One Last Breath
by Evanne Martine Hall
Summary: ***SEQUEL TO CLUB ROUGE*** Christian and Satine have gone on with their lives in Albany, but will their past come back to haunt them? *Chapter two up.*
1. A New Life

Christian walked into his house. How often he had walked through these doors to find his beautiful wife, Adrienne, and their newly born child waiting for him. He smiled when he saw a bit of red hair above a chair in the living room. Her warm voice called to him softly.  
  
"Hello, darling," she said, "How was your day?"  
  
Christian placed his portfolio on the couch and sat next to it. "Just fine, dear. How was yours?"  
  
They went through this routine every night, except for Sunday night, but had not yet tired of it. Of course, they had only been married for ten months, but they felt as if they had been together forever. A small cry emanated from a room down the hall, and a baby monitor next to Adrienne. She began to get up, but Christian stopped her.  
  
"You've been here all day," he said, "Let me see my family."  
  
She smiled at her husband as he went down the hallway.  
  
A tiny, redhaired baby lay in the crib in her nursery. A baby boy with dark brown hair lay in a crib next to her. Christian smiled, and the redhaired baby began to cry again. He bent down and picked her up. He shushed her and bounced her about as he tried to lull her back to sleep. Perhaps a simple lullaby.  
  
"Lullaby and goodnight, go to sleep little baby," he sang. As soon as she heard his voice, his child dropped off to sleep. He gently kissed her forehead and whispered, "Goodnight, dear one."  
  
He turned to leave, and saw Adrienne standing in the doorway. "She's spellbound by your voice, darling," she whispered. Christian put his finger to his lips and gently pushed her from the room. He closed the door quietly.  
  
"She won't sleep for me," whispered Adrienne, pulling Christian to her.  
  
"That's because you won't sing to her," he whispered back. Adrienne pulled away from him.  
  
"I shouldn't have to sing to her," she said, "I'm her mother." She turned and walked back into the living room. Christian followed her.  
  
"All I meant was that babies like to be sung to," he began. Adrienne rounded on him.  
  
"No, Christian. I won't sing. I left all of that behind me."  
  
"I know you did, darling, I . . ."  
  
"NO, Christian! Don't you understand? It's different for me than it is for you! You didn't have to live in that hell hole for ten years because your acting career was going down the drain! You didn't have to deal with the pushy men, the bitchy girls, and the same damned routine night after night. You didn't have to deal with the bruises and the bleeding and the crying and the wishing to die night after night after fucking sleepless night!" By the end of her paragraph she was running out of breath, and collapsed, gasping onto the floor. Christian slowly walked over to her and pulled her into him. He held her for a very long time, Adrienne's entire weight on him. She sobbed into his jacket until she had no more tears to cry.  
  
"Darling," said Christian quietly, "No matter what anyone says, or what you fear, you are not Satine. Not anymore. You are Adrienne, my wife, the mother of my two beautiful children, and the one person that makes my life worthwhile."  
  
Adrienne looked up at him. "But that's just it," she said slowly, "Somewhere, I've always been Satine, and somewhere I'll always be her. What if she comes back? I couldn't do that to you . . . to our children . . ." Christian silenced her with a gaze.  
  
"Then we just won't go to that 'somewere,'" he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.  
  
Adrienne and Christian made their way into their bedroom, taking their baby monitor with them. The sounds of sleeping Alexis Marie and Dylan Martin drifted lazily through its speaker.  
  
That's the first chapter of the long-awaited sequel to the smash hit Club Rouge! Okay, so I'm thinking a little highly of myself. Please, please, please, please review it! 


	2. Going Down That Road

"Shit, Zibler, I told you damn well what would happen if I lost Satine!"  
  
Mr. Harold Zibler was sitting in his office watching a pacing Eivel Duke scream at him. Basically, Duke was threatening him with withdrawal of funds, lawsuits, and general wiping of the floor with his ass-age. Zibler took it all in stride. Sure, Duke was a rich bastard, but still . . . he was a lot of talk. And that was certainly what he was doing now.  
  
"I understand your point, Mr. Duke, sir," he said rather sarcastically, "But the point is, it's not my fault that Satine left. There was no way I could have stopped her."  
  
Duke stared at him a moment. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a look of amusement on the fat man's face. Speechless, Duke sputtered a few times, then turned on his heel and slammed Zibler's office door behind him.  
  
Zibler let out a sigh and wiped his face with his hands. He stared at the phone a moment. One call would be all it would take. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Suddenly, the very phone he was staring at rang.  
  
He jumped about six feet in the air, waited for it to ring again, then picked it up.  
  
"Zibler," he grunted.  
  
"Mister Zibwer?" came a lisping voice through the earpiece.  
  
"Toulouse?" asked Zibler, knowing quite well who it was, but taken aback.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing, thir, I'm calling from a cab."  
  
"Why the hell does that matter to me?"  
  
"I'm calling from a cab going to Albany, thir."  
  
Zibler nearly dropped the phone for two reasons. One, why was Toulouse taking a cab to Albany, and two, why was he going to Albany in the first place? He swallowed and asked slowly, "Toulouse, why are you going to Albany?" He knew full well why, but asked anyway.  
  
"To thee Kwistian and Mith Thatine," said Toulouse.  
  
"Shit," breathed Zibler. Here was his chance. If he could convince Toulouse to talk to Satine . . . But how could he do that? She had wanted out, she had gotten out, and now he was trying to drag her back in. She would never agree to anything. Even if he promised her a spot on Broadway, she'd spit in his face and run again. If he could even get her to Manhattan.  
  
"Thir?" came Toulouse's voice.  
  
"What?" barked Zibler, a little more harshly than he meant, having been dragged out of his thoughts.  
  
"Ith there anything you would like me to tell Mith Thatine or Kwistian?"  
  
Zibler thought for a moment. Why was he having second thoughts? He was a ruthless producer, for Christ's sake. He had given people hell for a living for nearly thirty years, and here he was, considering an actress's feelings. What had happened to him?  
  
"Yes," he said finally, a grim sneer coming across his face, "Tell them I'm ill, and I'd like to see Satine."  
  
"But thir," said Toulouse, "You'w not thick."  
  
"Toulouse, do you like your job?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Would you like to keep it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then tell Christian and Satine I'm sick and need to see them."  
  
"But thir . . ."  
  
"Tell them or you're fired, dammit!"  
  
"Yes, thir."  
  
Zibler slammed the phone down. Shit, he thought, what have I done?  
  
  
  
Christian rolled over in bed to watch his sleeping darling. Her red hair was across her face as she laid on her side, breathing in and out, slowly. He glanced at the clock. It was seven in the morning. Time for work.  
  
He didn't really mind his publishing job. It was a break from trying to write for a living. It had been a thrill to see the first copy of the first book ever published with his name in it. Burdsbury Publishing - Christian Londen. His business cards read the same thing.  
  
He showered and dressed in a gray suit with a gray checkerboard tie. He put on white socks and his black, newly-shined shoes, and padded across the floor, quietly. He ducked inside the nursery, checking on his sleeping babies, then went into the living room. He grabbed his briefcase, put on his hat, and left.  
  
Deciding to take the Z3, and leave Adrienne the Jetta for errands, he climbed inside, and began to make his way down the winding country road. It was a forty-five minute commute to his office, and he enjoyed driving the scenic route.  
  
Suddenly, he passed a yellow cab, bearing a rather familiar looking black-haired midget. Christian stared at him a moment before the recognition registered.  
  
Holy shit, he thought, nearly swerving off the road. He slammed on his breaks and pulled out his cell phone. His office was on speed dial.  
  
"Yeah, Mr. Krudwick? I'm not going to make it in to work today. Something unexpected just came up."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry it's so short. I just wanted to get another chapter of this DONE. Okay, time to go edit the ol' profile. Again. Please review!  
  
~*~Evie~*~ 


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